


Picture You

by karmascars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Pegging, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, knowing that's a real tag has made my life complete, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmascars/pseuds/karmascars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Gettin' down in a picture tube, like you lit the fuse. You think it's fictional? Mystical? Maybe...</i>
</p><p>OR, Gorillaz notwithstanding: that one time Sam and Jess sent pics to Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture You

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who didn't start singing it right away, the lyrics are from _Clint Eastwood_.
> 
> I place the blame for this solidly on the shoulders of [intotheruins](http://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins).

On March 8th, 2005, Dean is sitting at a bar in Queens. He trundled over to New York on a whim after dispatching a ghoul in Ohio, no discernible goal in mind other than finding a dive and getting stupid drunk. He's halfway there. This place doesn't even have a name so far as he can tell, and the bartender looks like a shifter's bad impression of Jack Nicholson.

He tosses back another shot. The moment he plunks the glass upside down on the scarred bar top, he feels his phone go off in his pocket. He almost doesn't look at it, 'cause it'll only be Dad, and Dad is part of the reason Dean is bent on getting drunk.

Masochistic as he is, he looks anyway -- and everything grinds to a halt.

It's a picture message. He doesn't recognize the number, but he does the area code: Palo Alto, California. The geek squad town where the other half of Dean's entire life (and the rest of why he's drinking) is currently holed up at school.

Dean's focus narrows to a razor's edge.

The picture loads.

With a yelp, Dean drops his phone. It lands on the sticky floor and mocks him there, shining too brightly, making no sense whatsoever. He's got to pick it up before anyone notices, but he can't move, stuck on tilt with what he's about 68% sure he actually saw.

Inhale, exhale.

He dives for it and snaps it shut, digging like mad in his pockets for something to pay with. He doesn't even look to see if that was a twenty or a fifty before he turns and stumbles out into the dark, chill digging its nails into his ticklish spots.

The car has never felt so warm and safe. Dean huddles in the driver's seat, taking comfort from the soft orange glow of the dashboard lights. For a moment all he does is even out his breathing. Cars pull in and out of the parking lot around him. His heart races as he contemplates what he might have seen, and Dean realizes he's going to have to look again.

 _One, two --_ He flips his phone open.

Yep, that's still a pair of fair-skinned, perky tits.

Framed by two very familiar hands.

It doesn't make any more sense than it did when he got it.

Dean stares. He's pretty sure he's supposed to. These must belong to Jess, the girl that Sam has barely mentioned. Granted, they haven't spoken since Christmas -- and what a humdinger of a conversation that was -- but Dean is still feeling inappropriately affronted. Sam never mentioned he was this close with someone.

 _Why should he?_ Dean's mind whispers viciously. _Just 'cause it's not you?_

He tears his eyes from the screen and shuts it, scrubbing a hand over his face. _Shut up._ Sam was never his to claim. He's known that for as long as he's known Sammy will always be it for him. That paradox is a large part of why Dean has always been a slut for loose women.

And why his cock is now swelling, getting pinched against his thigh. Dean shifts up with a grunt and adjusts. _Down, boy. Damn._

His phone buzzes. Another message.

When his brain parses this one, Dean has to bite his lip around a moan. That's Sam's chin, so that's Sam's tongue, which means _that's_...

Miss Jessica's clit.

_What the hell is going on?!_

With a shudder, Dean flings the phone aside like it's been possessed. It lands with a snap and slides on Sam's -- _the passenger_ seat. The clock face glows up at him with an innocence that says he's being ridiculous.

He's not.

He's actually handling this very well. It's not like his hands are shaking too badly to throw the car in reverse and get the fuck out of Dodge.

Not like the pedal is _all_ the way to the floor.

And Dean isn't having trouble seeing at all, despite the alcohol and lack of blood flow to anywhere but his raging hard-on.

Who is he kidding?

He doesn't remember the drive.

The motel's garish lights are so welcoming that he has to choke back a sob as he fishtails into the parking lot. Dean hasn't been this fucking turned on in -- ever, maybe, and he doesn't know if the next sound out of his mouth will be screaming, or crying.

While he's still fumbling with the lock on his door, his phone rings. They're _calling_ him now? Dean swears a blue streak and throws his weight against the door. The impact breaks the antique bolt. He gets inside, jimmies it closed again, nearly drops the phone --

"H'lo?" he grunts.

 _"Sh-shit,"_ somebody gasps on the other end. Dean knows the burr in that voice, like he knows the roar of the Impala's engine and the sound of his own harsh breathing.

 _"Did he answer?"_ a female voice asks from further away. She sounds kind of breathless. _"He did, didn't he?"_

A high noise from Sam, like a whine, is all the reply she gets. Dean can't, he just can't. He has to pop the button on his jeans and yank down the zipper. His dick stands straight out from his body, ruddy and rigid in the vee of his fly. So much of his blood has migrated, Dean might have felt faint were it not for the adrenaline thundering through his veins.

 _"Hi, Dean!"_ the girl slurs cheerfully. _"Bet this is a surprise."_

 _"Jess,"_ Sam groans. He sounds _wasted_. _"Gimme the phone."_

 _"But you're gonna -- you -- hey!"_ Rustling over the speaker. Dean wraps his fingers tight around his cock and his eyes roll back, his knees suddenly weak. He staggers to the edge of the bed. It's still made, the nylon printed comforter a chill against the backs of his thighs.

 _"You better not hang up!"_ Jess is saying in the background, and Dean grips his cock tight at the base for what he knows he'll hear next --

 _"Hey, Dean,"_ Sam breathes, liquor and sex and years, and Dean almost moans in reply. How can it be that the one person he isn't allowed to have, at all, ever, is the one person who can make him feel like this?

What kind of shit luck is that?

"Hey, Sammy," he says. There's no way he's keeping his voice steady. It comes out just as rattled as he feels.

 _"Did you like the pictures?"_ Jess calls. Sam's breath hitches, and Dean hears Jess giggle.  _"Tell him what we're doing right now."_

 _"H-he doesn't want to hear that,"_ Sam protests.

Dean does.

_"We're buggin' him as it is."_

"You're not," Dean croaks. They're really, _really_ not. In fact, they're quickly making this the best night of Dean's entire life, and even if Sam doesn't remember this, the fact that he hasn't hung up yet speaks volumes of new information. Hope springs eternal, yadda.

Dean's heart is racing.

He tunes back in to sounds of a scuffle over the phone. Jess is the one who speaks next, sounding triumphant. _"So Sam hasn't told me much about you, Dean,"_ she says in a conversational tone.

 _Has he told you we're brothers?_ Dean wonders with a jolt of adrenaline.

_"I'm gonna put you on speaker and ask you some questions, okay?"_

Dean falls back on the mattress like a felled tree, hips working his cock through the tight tunnel of his fingers, mostly without his consent. _Ungh--_ "'kay."

The echo in his ear widens. _"All right,"_ Jess says gleefully. _"_ _Question numero uno: have you and Sam slept together?"_

 _"Jess!"_ Sam's shriek is immediately punctuated by some kind of animal whimper that does not, _absolutely does_ go directly to Dean's cock.

"No," he says, and he can't stop it coming out like he feels: the frustrated side of horny.

She giggles, rich and conniving. _"Noted,"_ she drawls. _"Number two! Have you ever fantasized about Sam while jerking it?"_

"What kind of sick game show is this?" Dean's mouth is on autopilot, his brain stuck on _you_ and _Sam_ and _slept together_ in the same damn sentence. "Can I phone a friend?"

 _"Aw, I'm your friend!"_ Jess purrs. _"That's a yes. Number three --"_

Both Sam and Dean sputter, but she plows right over them. _"Number three,"_ she says firmly. _"Sam, have you ever fantasized about Dean? And please -- be -- honest,"_ she grinds out, doing something to Sam that makes him moan like a slut.

He sounds a little embarrassed, too. That doesn't sit well with Dean.

His hand stills on his cock. "What are you doing to him?" he has to ask, despite desperately needing Sam to answer that other question. It comes out sounding dangerous.

 _"No,"_ Sam gasps, sounding jolted, _"It's okay, I swear, but -- j-just don't ask that. Anything but --"_

 _"I'm going to tell him,"_ Jess says, further from the speaker, _"because this isn't healthy. You're adults, you need to face your feelings for one another like adults._

 _"I'm fucking him,"_ she tells Dean. From the increase in volume it sounds like she leans closer to the phone, but he can tell by the way her diaphragm is working that she hasn't stopped moving. Come to think of it, she's been -- he's been able to hear --

The whole time they've been --

 _"He likes it,"_ she says.

Sam moans again, lower.

Dean has a hard time not coming just hearing this shit.

He can imagine, in brilliant Technicolor, the way they look together. From what Sam has offhandedly mentioned, Jess is tiny, or at least a few inches shorter than he is. Sam isn't a huge guy but he isn't small, either -- by the night he stormed out, Dean was the one looking up at him. Dean bets that Sam is on his hands and knees, 'cause it's easier that way, but maybe they switch. Maybe Sam rocks back on her cock, or maybe he'll lie there bonelessly taking it, so fucked out he can't even move. Maybe Jess is a power top, riding him into oblivion all the time, or maybe -- mayb-- _oh, god..._

Dean's eyelids flutter. His grip on his cock has become jerking strokes, hard and fast with little rhythm but _go, go, go_.

Maybe, sometimes, Sam rides her. Dean can see him flexing his thighs and tossing back his sweaty head with a moan as he impales himself again, and again.

 _"Sam,"_ is torn from Dean's chest, flying from his lips before he can stop it.

Sam immediately moans back, _"God, Dean..."_

 _"He says your name a lot, you know,"_ Jess confides. _"During sex,"_ she adds, like Dean didn't know.

_"You know, he wouldn't tell me who you were at first."_

Dean's heart stops.

_"But I get why."_

"Y-you do?" It comes out hoarse.

 _"Yeah,"_ Sam chimes in, hesitant but drunkenly enthused. _"She really does. She knew a pair of sisters in high school."_

 _"Well, they identified as girls,"_ Jess says.

Dean needs another drink. He's too sober to handle this. He flops around on the bed until he can sit up without loosing his grip on his cock. Staggering to his feet, he shuffles over to his duffel. Quick as he can he's got his emergency bottle of Jack open and flowing down his throat.

He swallows with a satisfied _ah_. There's the burn he needs. Now, he can handle whatever they throw at him, and just in time. Silence on the phone says he's missed something.

"What's up?" he asks into the void.

 _"She, uh. She asked if you really --"_ Sam's voice cracks, and he coughs. _"If you want me, like that."_

Dean's throat swells closed. His mouth works, but no sound comes out. This is everything he's ever wanted laid out before him, and try as he might, he can't speak. He's not even breathing.

 _"Yeah,"_ Sam says into the weighty silence, sounding heartbroken. _"I knew this was stupid. Jess, I told you this was a bad idea."_

_"Give him a minute, why don't you --"_

_"But he doesn't --"_

"I do." Dean's voice rushes back. He chokes. _"Sammy."_

Sam makes some kind of a noise on the other end; wonder, joy, and denial.

"I fuckin' do, okay?" Dean tells him. "You're --" He sucks in quick breath, trying to draw courage with it. "Since you've been gone, man, I dunno. It's --" Dean has to scrub a hand over his face. He feels ridiculous, dick hanging out of his shorts, bottle clutched in one white-knuckled hand. But Sam's not here to see him, just needs to hear him.

"It feels like my damn arm's been torn off," Dean tells him, completely honest.

 _"I -- fuck, Dean, I --"_ Sam's having trouble getting out whatever it is, and the reason becomes obvious when he stammers, _"Jess, shit --"_

 _"Go on,"_ she urges, the force of her exertion in her voice. _"Tell him."_

 _"I can't when you're -- oh. Oh, fuck. Deannn,"_ Sam mewls, _"ah, ah, Dean,"_ his voice climbs, _"oh, yeah! Unnnggh... ah, ah..."_

The sounds of his brother coming shoot right down to Dean's balls, which tighten into the base of his cock, which blurts out so much precome with so much pleasure attached that Dean thinks he's coming, too.

But Sam begins to wind down, his noises more like whimpers than cries, while Dean is still climbing higher. He whines, speeding the strokes of his hand, cramming the phone to his ear. There's a rustling down the line. And then --

 _Oh,_ then --

Jess holds the phone right up to where she's plowing Sam _deep_.

And she really gives it to him.

Squelches, slaps, moans from further away and Dean is instantly transported. _He's_ the one fucking Sam, like he knows Jess means him to be. His hand on his cock is the sweet clench of his brother's ass, his gaping mouth is _kissing_ \--

Dean bucks up into his fist and comes with a wordless shout.

A whoop from Jess. Sam groans like he's been stabbed in the gut and it's fatal, but it doesn't turn Dean's stomach because the sound is just so full of heat. Jess must have a screwed in as deep as she could go.

Sam whimpers, and Dean can guess what's happening now. He's relaxing incrementally into one hell of an afterglow. His hand falls to his side, eyelids drooping, and he hears the sound through the phone change. Someone took him off speaker.

 _"Whew!"_ Jess says, sounding more tired than drunk, and more elated than either of those. _"In a minute, I'm going to get this beautiful, strung-out creature to do me a favor,_ _and then we're going to sleep."_

Dean hears his brother mumble something. Jess hums in reply. Silence stretches, but she hasn't hung up, so Dean stays on the line.

Sleep threatens.

Suddenly, Jess is murmuring to him, _"If you can get here, you should."_

"Something wrong?" Forget the afterglow. Dean's system ratchets up to full alert.

 _"No, no, everything's fine,"_ she reassures him, and he stands down ever so slightly, _"but Sam isn't happy. Not really. I didn't think it was any of my business until tonight._

_"He suggested we call you, then immediately regretted it. I talked him back into it with a little help from our friend Jose Cuervo."_

Dean is glad she did.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he says. "But hey, if he doesn't remember..."

 _"You should still get your ass out here,"_ she says. _"He misses you."_

She hangs up.

Dean lets the phone fall from his ear.

His entire body is thrumming with satisfaction. His mind has been blown. There is nothing he'd like better than a full night's sleep.

But the roads unfold in his mind. He could be there in less than a day.

Hopping up, Dean casts around for his jeans.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. x


End file.
